Disease
by Lady Vignette
Summary: Bruce has fallen ill, and Joker is determined to give him a speedy recovery. Written for the Secret Santa event on batmanjoker. My prompt was: "Joker taking care of a sick and/or injured Bruce." Enjoy! B/J slash


Here is my horrible corniness mixed with my badly written sexual scene! ^.^ Enjoy =D It was written for the Secret Santa on the livejournal comm., batmanjoker.

Bruce was aroused to consciousness on Monday by a head-splitting migraine and with a fiery pain in his throat. He didn't have the desire to get out of his warm and luxurious Egyptian cotton sheets, but knew he had to. He stumbled to the bathroom to take a cool shower that he had hoped would bring his fever down, but it didn't help. It was November, for God's sake, so he regretted putting the water to a cooler temperature when he stepped out into what seemed like Arctic air. Everything was freezing and hypersensitive against his scalding, feverish skin, although he was freezing.

As he sluggishly pulled his clothes on, not really looking to see if the outfit matched, he began to wonder how he had gotten sick. He hadn't encountered anything during last night's midnight escapade, and it had been incredibly dull. The Joker wasn't out; neither were any other of the scum of Gotham. It was, overall, a very disappointing night. So, how the hell did he get sick? It was an enigma. Maybe it was from the cold.

But he doubted it.

It seemed Alfred always knew when there was something wrong with him, because as soon as he stepped foot into the television room while fixing his suit jacket, he was staring down at the aging, worn face of his butler, and a hand to his burning forehead. He kept it there for a few seconds, and Bruce closed his dry, burning eyes that felt like lead.

"You're warm," he said. Bruce nodded, and was dragged to the kitchen to get his temperature checked by a thermometer shoved into his clogged right ear. He stood there for a few minutes while Alfred forced him to hold it to his hear until it beeped, and he was sure his arm was going to fall off when it finally beeped. Alfred took it from his hand, and his arm fell limp at his side. He was getting light-headed, and his vision was foggy. His eyes began to droop slowly close…

"Well, Master Wayne, it looks like you're staying home. You have a fever of a hundred and three. You never get fevers." Alfred's worried voice seemed distant to his beeping ears as he was guided back to his welcoming bedroom. It seemed as though he had fallen asleep as soon as his body hit the mattress. He hadn't even bothered to get out of his work clothes, or pull the comforter over him.

Chicken soup and boring television and web surfing followed for the next few days. Bruce was sure if Alfred stuffed another can of soup down his throat, he'd either puke or explode. And, although he loved Alfred to death, the butler was getting annoyingly overprotective. He didn't allow Bruce a moment of solitary time, and he didn't allow him to do his daily workout routine. He didn't realize that Bruce had a city to protect, and staying in bed 24/7 did not allow him to fulfill his duties to Gotham. He was getting annoyed with Alfred, which almost never happened.

However, Bruce was a man who needed to be alone sometimes. He had to find some way to get rid of Alfred. It took a lot of convincing (and balcony seats to the Gotham Philharmonic Orchestra) for him to leave. Alfred had, however, left reluctantly, afraid to see anything happen to his only close kin left. Bruce understood his concerns, but that didn't stop him from letting the door hit Alfred's ass on the way out and embracing the solitude.

Now, he lay in a pool of his own sweat, staring at the ceiling fan. His sweat sparkled on his bare chest like that annoying kid from those _Twilight_ movies, and he couldn't move. He didn't want to sleep because he loved this alone-time. Away from Batman. Away from Bruce Wayne. He could just be himself, and he could _think_. He could recharge.

He was beginning to feel gross. A shower, then a nap would do, he decided.

xxx

When his Bat hadn't been out to play for a few days, the Joker wasn't worried. He decided that bomb threats towards schools could keep him entertained, and perhaps get Brucey out of hiding. But, he really began to get pissed off when Batman stood him up for a week. It was rude to ignore him, and he didn't like it when people ignored him. He liked all attention and eyes on him, especially Batman's.

So, he decided he was going to pay his Bat-Bruce a visit.

It wasn't that hard getting into the penthouse, really. Threaten a few guards with their and their families' lives and they'll let you right in. So, as he walked through the penthouse, he noticed it was very, very quiet. He stealthily walked around, like the ninja master he knew he was, and peeked in all of the rooms. They were all vacant, and disgustingly clean. He snorted, and almost bumped into a closed door.

"Very graceful," he muttered, and slowly opened the door just a crack, and saw Bruce sleeping on his bed, not covered by any sort of blanket. He quietly tip-toed into the room, not wanting to wake him. A guy who beats criminals to a pulp every night is bound to be a light-sleeper. So, the wheezing told him Bruce was sick. Wonderful.

He knew he shouldn't have gone close to the sleeping form, but he was curious. He liked how Bruce looked when he was sleeping. He looked angelic and pure, and beautiful. He corrupted and damaged beautiful things. But, Bat-Bruce was something else. He was incorruptible. This only added to the beauty and the perfection. He ran his hand along Bruce's sweaty, bare cheek, down his collarbone, and down his sweaty chest, drinking in his chiseled muscles and perfect skin. He realized how low his hand was when it reached the hem of his boxers, and he slowly removed his hand.

Turning, he began to walk out of the room.

"Joker." _Shit a brick and fuck me with it_, the Joker thought. He was going to be carted back to Arkham, back to the shrinks and the sedatives and the bland, off-white walls that were stained with piss. And the Joker didn't like yellow.

When there was a muffled groan and when Bruce's body arched up, the Joker suppressed a giggle, and felt the blood rush to his groin.

He'shavingadirtydreamaboutmememe!

He thought his day couldn't get any better.

As the Joker walked out of the room, he allowed himself to let out a couple of giggles as he closed the door behind. Oh, he'd never forget about that. He would taunt him with that until they died (or, at least until they got really old). He saw the kitchen, and smirked. He loved food. He loved to cook, and he loved to eat.

He began to raid the cabinets for ingredients, and when he found them he organized them neatly, by size, on the shiny counter. He could see his reflection in the sleek, black granite. Once he gathered the ingredients for his special formula of his amazing homemade soup, he put a relatively normal amount of water that would feed a man like Bruce in a pan, and began to chop up the vegetables like a chef, not even cutting himself in the process. He had skilled, agile hands.

He was damn sure he was a ninja warrior before he became a brilliant mastermind.

But, he began to doubt that when he spilled boiling water on his hand.

"Jesus on a stick!" He shouted, and ran his hands beneath the cold water in the sink.

xxx

Bruce awoke the sweet aroma of food, _real_ fucking food, cooking in the kitchen and the unpleasant dampness in his pants. Another one of those _dreams_ had occurred. He knew he shouldn't be ashamed, since he couldn't control his subconscious, but he was. He was embarrassed. He wondered why he had to have dreams of the Joker fucking him into submission, or the Joker screaming his name in those inappropriate ways…

He shook the thought out of his head. He had slept through the time Alfred was gone, and he was pissed at himself for it. He should've been savoring his free-time. He should've been running around the house and wreaking as much havoc as possible. It was daybreak, and he knew this was just around the time when Alfred should be home. The show was in the midst of the afternoon, and the superficial socialites would only keep him so entertained and distracted.

"Alfred?" He called in a raspy voice. No one replied. How odd. Alfred usually replied to his calls. Then there were those awful, horribly familiar giggles. His heart began to race. He tried to convince himself that he was just imagining it all, that that clown wasn't in the penthouse. There wasn't any way possible that he could've broken in here. He had major, heavy security. There just wasn't a way…

However, all doubts were erased once the Joker, carrying a bowl and dressed in his usual purple coat and pinstriped pants that fit snugly in all the right places. His face turned a bright shade of red, and he made an attempt to cover himself with his blanket.

"I might be insane, but I'm not stupid. I _obviously_ know whose house this is, Bat-Bruce." The Joker said with an eye roll, as if offended. He put the steaming bowl of soup and a cup on the bed-side table, and pulled up a chair to sit beside him. Bruce sighed, removed the blanket from his face, and was left to stare up at the maniacally grinning face of the Joker. The smile was mischievous, but that grin never seemed to leave the psychopath's face.

"What is that? Did you poison it?" Bruce glared at the soup. Joker rolled his eyes, and held a spoonful of the soup up to Bruce's lips. Bruce kept his lips pursed in a thin line, refusing to eat anything the Joker cooked. The Joker rolled his eyes.

"**Eat the goddamn soup!**" The Joker roared, and Bruce immediately took a bite and swallowed it. It was, actually, quite good. Joker smiled almost genuinely, and he continued to feed Bruce and give him sips of the apple juice. It was silent for a few moments.

"You look… _rough_, baby. Have you uh, been sleeping well lately?" The Joker asked with a snicker. Bruce went stiff. He knew, and Bruce knew he was never going to hear the end of it. The Joker noticed the look of horror on his face, and laughed even harder. He patted Bruce's head, who scowled at him.

"Don't worry about it! I have dreams of ya like that all the time!" The Joker laughed at Bruce's face, and ran his hand down his cheek. Bruce's breath caught in his throat when the hair was tucked behind his ear. He couldn't bring himself to move his heavy limbs to knock away the Joker's hands. The Joker moved his face closer to his, his hot breath tickling his earlobe as he rested his face against his sweaty hair.

"Daddy will make you feel all better." He whispered, and began to run his hand down Bruce's body. Bruce froze, and closed his eyes when the Joker nibbled on his fatty earlobe, moving to his neck. The Joker climbed over so he could straddle Bruce's hips, and Bruce felt a hard bulge in the Joker's pants. Bruce felt the Joker begin to grind against him, softly moaning as he did it. Bruce felt the sweat begin to pour down his cheeks, and his cock began to get painfully hard. The Joker moved his mouth down Bruce's collarbone, and to an erect nipple. He began to bite and suck on the nipple until it became red, until it turned into the most sensitive thing on Bruce's body.

The Joker's mouth moved lower, and Bruce felt his hands begin to pull down his pants when he heard the door begin to fumble open, then Alfred calling his name and hitting the door repeatedly, demanding to be let inside.

_God damnit! _

"Looks like it'll have to wait, princess. Hope ya get better!" The Joker giggled and pecked Bruce on the lips, quickly pulling away before the other man could react. Bruce's erection was painfully hard. Why the fuck did Alfred need to come back now?

"I'll take care of uh, that," Joker pointed to Bruce's pants, "sometime else, babe. Tell Jeeves I said hello!" The Joker chuckled as he walked out of the room. Bruce sighed, and pulled on his bathrobe as he hastened to get the door, ignoring just how hard and light-headed he had become since the Joker came. He didn't look at the kitchen when he opened the door. Alfred was holding a bag of groceries in his hand, and he was covered in snow.

"What took you so damn long?" _The Joker and I were about to fuck each other senseless, Alfred. It's no big deal, really. _Bruce thought sardonically with a slight smirk as Alfred trudged into the kitchen. He froze, and smiled.

"Bruce! I never knew you could cook!"

Bruce rolled his eyes.

"It's a long story, really."


End file.
